I’m not wilting. That’s what I know right now. I might in the future, I might have in the past. But it apparently is not permanent, because time didn’t leave me that way before and I won’t let it leave me that way later.

Infinity is a concept of forever. Forever in this hole, forever in their arms, all forever. But I am really happy…no, maybe not happy but relieved that nothing really lasts. A type of promise in that, something to believe in if there’s nothing else.

infinity is a long time, a overextended and lengthy period of time.
Something I am not too keen on experiencing.

The souls beckons for either an inspiration or an end to meet. Isn’t it strange how our bodies are bent on keeping us alive but then they seem to rush us towards the end as well. What fickle things we are.

I think people spend most of their lives questioning if something they put themselves to or against is worthwhile. In the end, anyways. And I wonder it too, whenever my heart throws a tantrum and overtakes all of my breathing with it’s beating. When I can’t hear it anymore. It’s easy to feel like a sacrifice in this case.

She said that it was dirty inside, that it was building and she couldn’t feel the way she had. The way she wanted to and so she fasted. She fasted for weeks. Thinking it would cleanse her soul to feel a little want, a little pain. I still don’t know if it was ever enough.

“Your heart and my heart, the polar opposites in breathing and beating. Your blood pumping to the brain and mine to my feet. Your breathe is still tangling and weaving around the veins. The problem comes with that their choking the veins. Cutting off the circulation and the blood. Cutting off life.”

dot dot dot is my mind in the vault. dot dot dot is what my heart echoes and recites when they say “i love you”. and here i am in a crowded field, breaking out a noose to hang my heart by your words that aren’t alive.

My story has been left unwritten for what I deem to be, too long a span of time. The waves of memory that carry foamy emotions has dissapated to the point where I have often wondered if I can even write about it with any form of conviction and purpose. And what would be the writing without it, convition and purpose.

i dont think i would ever be able to recognize if i felt this feeling. Not anymore or ever. everything is just too much like a flatlands with no sign of a way out nondepending on the direction you take.

I went walking today
And on the sunlit cement
i grew bored and
resigned to count
how many pairs in the world their are.
Animal beside animal.
One being mounted next to another.
Walking in stride.
Signing to one another of their thoughts
faces that hide feelings more thoroughly
than if they had been covered in a mask.

Fools are everywhere as a child. All of the adults and their lack of seeing, blindness, foolishly taking what they can and doing what they will. There’s nothing like the perspective of a child. There’s nothing more knowledgeable.

My heart finds it alarming how easy it is to feel this vulnerability. I wish I could crawl inside my chest and pull out all the wires that set this time bomb ticking inside of my chest, leaving the wonderment of when.

Neon lights were humming as we pulled, lightly and near-soundlessly into the cleared lot. Gravel spat at the tires in distruption. Lights grew clearer and loomed overhead. The five evenly spaced offices were flooded with its glow.

I sucked the water out, swamping around me in jell-o like puddles. I turned the water off, it left with a defiant hiss. Falling against the chilled bathroom panels slowly, I reached the floor. Knees brought to chin and strange arms resting at my sides. I couldn’t feel a thing, just noticed that the inside of my thighs were stained with soap and my insides stained with far more damaging things than that.